The last Lord of Slom
by SneakyWalrus
Summary: Beneath the light of a waning moon, the last Lord of Slom meets the last true servant to the House of Ambry. But man and beast are not one in the same, and violence is born of blood.


Beneath the light of a waning moon, the forest shifted restlessly. Gnarled oaks swayed gently in the silent wind, branches shaking in time with the movement of the earth, leaves drifting in the breeze.

Beasts of all kinds lived and breathed within the trees, countless creatures of all manner of design and life. Some were simple animals, basic things of thin limbs and bushy tails, scrambling about, continuing the endless cycle of life and death.

Others were bigger, things of strength and hunger, hunting prey deep into the night, gnashing teeth and slashing claws tumbling through the undergrowth, blood staining the flowers bright red, tainted bloody crimson.

The greatest of all beasts were strange things, of alien intellect and bizarre powers. They floated along on a deathly wind, some with eldritch powers flaying their prey alive, others communing and debating among their own, a council of beasts.

Some were barely human, like the mighty drakes that drifted through the night sky, poisonous breath and black wingbeat stalking their prey. There were those that were human but not, the greatest of all the natural Earth, the Granite Golems, standing motionlessly but for the single mountain among them, whips of moss forming its shaggy beard. Together they argued and debated into the night, each adding their voice to the discussion.

Finally, the strongest beings of flesh but weakest of mind, the Ogres, sat and sung, each chortling and cheering into the night, a roaring fire surrounded by every ogre within the forest, a civilization of fools, their two-headed king bringing fire to his fingers, and reforming his people into something greater than their whole. Magic spun and whirled at his fingers, the lesser Ogres in awe. Some, blessed by their Lady, turned to their own innate powers, brass rods and old oak channeling their latent, unknown powers to dance with their king.

Among this endless chorus of spinning life and whirling death, a man slunk through the woods, a soundless voice echoing to all within the woods. All creatures he sung to echoed back, the choir of beasts answering to their master.

Karroch, the Beastmaster.

Massive axes, sharp metal of old age, hung by his sides, bouncing against the numerous furs that wrapped his form and the many bags strapped to his legs. Around his waist was a huge belt of iron, blackened with oils but still unkempt, the symbol of a dead kingdom worn away, a king's folly and a beast's triumph, while his head was wrapped in a crimson hood, eyes of pure black shifting back and forth between the trees, a line of red ochre marking his face.

Slinking along his side was a massive boar of terrible bite and powerful claws, spikes jutting from its back to protect from enemies. In the sky, darting between the clouds and the trees, a hawk flew, its feathers changing among the sparkling stars to hide it from sight.

Together they paced between the trees, hunting and being hunted, one with the endless cycle.

Carried on the wind, wolf's howl sounded.

The trees shrank back, the taint of blood wafting on the wind, their branches bending beneath the wind's push. Out of the forest, a pack of wolves, hounds to their lord, thundered forth. Each was strangely colored, not furred in hidden browns and blacks, but decorated in stripes of crimson and ivory.

The Beastmaster paused, a long forgotten memory surfacing.

Slowly the pack surrounded the Hero, circling hungrily, awaiting their moment to strike. The mighty boar at his side growled lowly, poisonous venom dripping from its fangs, spikes raised, ready to strike, its size and strength more than a match for the supposed 'Aristocracy of the Night'.

Above, the hawk circled, releasing a keen cry, its eyes showing every weakness, every mistake the wolves made to its brother and master.

Axes were drawn, fangs bared, blood raised and ready to be spilled.

Another keening cry, and the Beastmaster grew tense, teeth bared.

Out of the trees came a truly massive beast, the first of its kind, King among lupine lords.

The Lycanthrope, the first child of the House of Ambry, last claimant to the dead Kingdom of Slom.

Greater than any man, the beast loped forward, fur smoldering with ever burning ashes, the sparks drifting on the calm wind, smoke and fire spiraling towards the stars. It was huge, standing twice the hight of the Beastmaster, with claws that could split iron with a single strike, jutting fangs sprouting from its lower jaw.

Its fur was crimson, with an ivory underbelly, colors of a long forgotten House, while cracks of burning red, embers of painful magic, split its legs, the magical power splitting the Lycan's flesh.

Golden eyes meet the pure ebony of the Beastmaster. As one, the wolves split apart, each lowering their head to the lord of wolves. The Lycan paced forward, its fur catching alight, sputtering black smoking and painful flame twisting skyward, cloaking the shift from beast to man.

Before the Beastmaster stood Banehallow, the Lycanthrope.

Metal claws, thicker than a man's arm, were strapped to his forearms, chained together by polished brass and linked to his burnished chest plate by thick leather straps. Massive pauldrons inlaid with bronze, etched with dancing wolves, hung around his shoulders, a massive furred coat hanging from his left shoulder. Beneath this assortment of armor was a nobleman's clothing, a finely spun crimson shirt with golden pins and fitting black trousers.

He paced around the circle of wolves, golden eyes still locked with Karroch's.

"You."

His voice was harsh, ages unused leaving it graveled and hard.

"You are the Kingslayer."

Ebony eyes narrowed.

Lycan stepped forward, thick boots crushing the grass beneath him.

"You are the one that bought ruin to the kingdom of my enemy, split the capital open to the furious wilds."

Karroch's hands tightened, axes held firmly, ready to strike. He spoke.

"It was I."

The Lycan studied the man before it, like a cat with a mouse, playing with him in his minds eye. His mouth formed a wide grin, massive fangs spiking outwards.

"Then it is you I have to both thank and curse."

He turned, rough hands running along the crimson fur of his wolves, face souring, turning to a grimace.

"You summoned the wrath of beasts down upon Slom, cracked the kingdom in two, rack and ruin spread across the lands."

Golden eyes narrowed.

"You denied me revenge."

The wolf beneath his grasp trembled, sharp nails digging into its coat. The Lycan paused, before smiling once again, tense grip easing away.

"But it matters not. The House of Ambry has had its vengeance, even if it was delivered by it's servant and not it's liege."

The Beastmaster answered.

"I know you and your spore. Tainted blood that stained the King. My father's Lordling."

A bestial laugh.

"So what they say is true, you have become both man and beast! For you to recognize my scent would be impossible for just a man."

Lycan stepped forward, breaking the circle of wolves, standing before Karroch.

"Your lord calls to you once again. It is time for the Lord of Ambry to take his rightful place as King of Slom."

Karroch's eyes narrowed, body tense.

"Nay. I've seen the depredation of man, the rule of Kings. Do not think that because my father served you, that he survived the Massacre of the Apostates, that I will bend my knee."

Banehallow laughed once more.

"Who said it would be a kingdom of man? The wolf and the man will be one, ruling both night and land as they should."

"Then I deny you once more. I have seen the acts of your kingdom, of your wolves. You hunt for pleasure rather than life, act callously and cruel to those you think your lessors."

Karroch's raised an arm, axe pointed directly at the man before him.

"You are neither man nor beast, but a entirely different creature. Man builds his cities and tames the lands, and beast hunts the groves in the endless cycle of life, but you do neither. You dominate and destroy those who you can, wielding your power over the weaker and lesser than you."

Hackles raised, the wolves bayed and growled, straining to strike back at these insults to their Lord. Beside the Beastmaster, the mighty boar dug its claws into the earth, venom burning away at the soil where it dripped from its jaws.

"I name you a monster of the night. A tyrant in wolf's clothing."

Smoke fluttered around the Lycan, embers rising on the wind.

"And the beast does not bow to man."

Slowly, the wind faded and died, smoke drifted away, and each stood apart.

A single fluttering leaf dropped to the earth, and each side lunged at the other, wolf howls sounding into the night.

Flinging his axes forward, they arced and spun, deadly blades carving flesh from many a wolves hide, crimson spiraling away. Already, three had fallen to the blades, their bite cutting deep into lupine flesh.

The wolves swarmed the boar, gnashing teeth biting at its flesh, jumping along its body, bloody chunks torn away in great mouthfuls. In response, the massive boar flared its spines, attempting to skewer the wolf upon its back, trying to throw away its attacks. Lunging forward, it seized a wolf by its back, cracking its spine in a single bite, its poisonous bite ensuring the wolf's painful death.

The massive Lycan surged ahead, claws stretched forward to the Beastmaster, just as his axes spun back to his hands. Catching them in his gnarled hands, Karroch turned to see the Lycan barreling down on him, driving him back.

Slashing claws cut deep into his flesh, massive gouges causing terrible agony to the Beastmaster. A terrible rictus came across the Lycan's face, blood matting his fur. Unnaturally, the Lycan's jaws moved, a parody of man's speech.

"You deny your Lord? Die for your treachery!"

Karroch gritted his teeth, blood streaming from his wounds. Within his ebony eyes, an inner fury awoke, the blood of beasts rising. Striking back hard, his axes sunk deep into the wolf's flesh, blood spraying outwards.

As the boar fought the swarming wolves, snapping at its attackers, its terrible strength unable to catch its nimble assailants, the Beastmaster fought the Lycan, trading blows.

Jumping backwards, Lycan raised his snout to the waning moon, letting loose a terrible howl among the woods, echoing throughout the forest.

The Ogres ceased their revelry, thoughts turning to terror, as their 'King' prepared his own magic. The Golem's debates continued, unconcerned by the actions of creature made of flesh and blood. Far away, beneath the moon, a princess and her general rose from their prayers to the Moon Goddess, each seizing their weaponry and calling for their mounts. An old druid and his bear, lounging within the trees surround Selemene's temple, dropped to the earth, ancient claws growing long.

Bloodied, the beasts and their Master backed away, wolves pushing forward, knowing the kill was near.

Karroch lowered his head, axes held limp at his sides. Already, the wounds inflicted by Lycan were too great, his own retaliation unable to stop the Lycan. He watched as smoke steamed out of the monster's wounds, blood draining away and wounds sealing of their own accord.

A harsh laugh.

"You could have had everything you desired 'Beastmaster'. Now know that you die at your Lord's claws!"

The Lycan sped forward, and the Beastmaster raised his head.

The wind ceased, sputtering into nothingness before raw power.

Throughout the forest, the beasts halted the cycle of life, the Master of Beasts calling to them.

The strength of wilds rushed through him, empowering Karroch.

He shouted, the primal roar of beasts blowing away Lycan in a mighty shout. From the greatest to the smallest, eldritch things to simple animals, all of them roared as one, through the Beastmaster.

Earth was torn away by the force of Beasts, trees creaking and shattering beneath the terrible power, wolves flung into hardened oak.

The Lycan smashed through trees, branches shattering from the force that had thrown him through the air.

Standing strong, the primal roar reverberated, Karroch planted like an oak amid a storm. Slowly, the power left him, his voice lowering till it was a simple whisper.

He watched as the Lycan slowly stood, pulling itself upwards, lopsidedly loping away, barely any members of his pack standing after the attack. Golden eyes meet black, and the Lycan turned away first.

A keen cry echoed on the wind minutes later, and the Beastmaster collapsed, safe in the knowledge that the Lycanthrope had fled. All around him, beasts melded away from the trees, guarding his sleeping form.

A single thought was shared among the beasts that wrapped themselves around his form.

The Beast does not bow to Man.


End file.
